


but loving you is a loaded gun

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Developing Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Chronological, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Slice of Life, more research on animal behaviour than intended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-10-23 08:31:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17680010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: In which the Foxes all carry a bit of magic within them, but exy is still what shapes them into a family.[a collection of ficlets set in a not-so-mundane magic au where neil is still very much a runaway with an exy addiction and andrew is still the one that makes him stay.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi ok so i originally set out to do a mundane magic au where everyone just sort of had dumb powers that didn't really do much except these characters kind of demanded more bUT i'm terrible at plot?? so i compromised with writing non-linear snapshots (if u know me u know i avoid writing longfics bc i have commitment issues)
> 
> *this is not a bnha AU but it's the easiest way to explain it - everyone has a Blessing but they kind of just carry on with their regular lives despite it (no hero culture or leagues of villains, just good ole rich mob bosses and exy heirarchies)  
> *exy still exists in this universe but i've shuffled some of the canon events around on the timeline  
> *i'll update tags as i go and add notes as i reveal more in the future!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which not much magic happens at all.

 

Neil inhales the familiar smell of smoke and holds it in his chest for several quivering heartbeats. Then he closes his eyes, and breathes out. 

He woke up feeling restless. Not unusual. He was born in the cold and into a darkness that demanded his every nerve stand on end, ready to launch himself under the bed and later, out the window at his mother’s say-so. It didn’t matter how many storeys from the ground they were. They’d just grow wings.

But here, in Fox Tower, the wings don’t come easy. He can still feel the thrum of escape in his blood, the constant thump of a chase against his ribcage. He’d promised, though. He’d signed his name on dotted lines and jumped through the hoops that the rest of the team and Kevin and Andrew held against him. He won’t follow his rabbit instincts and flee in the night anymore.

The door to the roof opens behind him. Neil doesn’t turn around. His eyes trace the lights flickering on across the main mall of the campus as evening falls. Boots scuff against concrete and a moment later, the unmistakable flick of a lighter.

“How was Betsy?” Neil asks to break the silence. He doesn’t really care for an answer, but they both know that.

Andrew, predictably, doesn’t bother with a response. He smokes with lazy movements, eyes trained on the horizon as if he could freeze into a statue for the next century and he wouldn’t even notice. Neil gives up watching the sunset to study the boy beside him.

Andrew Minyard isn’t beautiful. He’s barely on the edge of handsome, a boyish roundness to his jaw, imperfect crookedness to his nose and his lips. There’s a sharpness to his eyebrows. A certain lethality to the hazel of his eyes. The slightest wrinkles from too many scowls, proud cheekbones that stand as if waiting for confrontation. On anyone else, these features would make a caricature of emptiness, and maybe that’s exactly the kind of mask he’s allowed everyone else to see. But Neil is a master of hiding behind masks, and he can see right through this one—Andrew Minyard isn’t a masterpiece, but he’s breathtaking just the same.

Against the haziness of dawning twilight, he almost looks ethereal.

“Staring,” Andrew says without looking at him. He flicks the ash off his cigarette.

Neil bares his teeth. “What are you going to do about it?”

Andrew doesn’t react right away. He takes a drag, long and slow, and then turns to blow smoke in Neil’s face. Never one to back down, Neil leans forwards and breathes in. He watches Andrew’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit. A crack in the composed blankness. A small victory.

Andrew turns away. “I could push you off the roof.”

“I’d drag you down with me.”

“I hate you.”

Neil smiles. It doesn’t feel warm, but it doesn’t feel like his father’s smile, either. He stubs out the cigarette between his fingers and leans back on his hands. The temperature is dropping quickly as the sun disappears. The sound of laughter and shouting from students below drift up towards them, mingling with the smoke from Andrew’s cigarette. 

Neil closes his eyes and breathes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which some exy is played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not a sports person and the only real knowledge of exy i have is other people's description of it as "bastardized lacrosse with extra violence" so take that how you will

 

The plexiglass of the court is specifically designed to protect the audience from the violence of the sport and the players from the audience, but it is also specially made to diminish the use of Blessings. 

Diminish, not erase. The material required to completely close off someone’s Blessing is expensive and mostly used for high maintenance jail cells, but when it comes to sports, equal ground is important, so this is as close as they can get. The rulebook states that any use of Blessings on court during games will result in immediate disqualification of the player and/or team. Neil understands this and respects this rule, but sometimes, the itch in his skin is hard to ignore.

Especially when the opposing players seem dead set on bending the rules in their favour.

He slams into the glass for the third time in five minutes, head rattling in his helmet as he tries to find his footing. His ribs are probably bruised, just like the rest of him, but at least he isn’t bleeding. He can hear the roar of the audience through the glass and the frustrated shouting of his teammates as the player who tackled him is forcibly hustled away. 

“Neil, you okay, man?”

Matt hauls him upright. Neil hadn’t even noticed he was on the floor. He shuts his eyes at the sudden vertigo. When he blinks them open again, Matt is peering down at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” Neil says automatically.

Matt rolls his eyes. “They’re cheating, you know that. They’ve got a striker with some sort of forcefield for a Blessing.”

“I know.” They’re skilled enough to use it on their teammates without the referees interfering. It’s not always effective, but it hurts like a bitch when it is. Neil grits his teeth and rolls his shoulders. 

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. It’s almost over, anyway. We just have to break the tie.”

Matt steps away as Dan waves at them to get into position. “You better not make me lose money if Abby says you got a concussion later.”

Neil tightens his grip on his racquet, staring down his mark. He’s already scored five times in the first half. He’ll just use his speed to continue to distract them while the others pull their weight. This team isn’t that hard, even with the cheating. Their team is better. He shifts, making eye contact with Kevin. They exchange a single firm nod.

The game resumes, and he launches himself forwards—to fly without wings, to run with just the suggestion of a fox in his afterimage.

(They win, and when Neil surfaces from underneath the spontaneous Fox-pile, he catches Andrew’s eye from across the field. The goalkeeper’s bored expression doesn’t change, but he tilts his head, like  _ what did you expect? _ Neil grins, sharp and wicked and real.)

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which neil panics, and kevin is useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess raven!neil is canon in this au; he dragged kevin with him when he left and didn't stop until they landed on wymack's doorstep
> 
> all i do is pick on kevin and shitpost about him on tumblr sorry man someone's gotta do it

 

Neil Josten is a fucking disaster.

As someone whose fate seems inexplicably tied to him and also as someone who unfortunately owes his life to said disaster, Kevin feels like he has a right to call him as such. Not that he isn’t grateful to Neil. He very much prefers to be alive and suffering through physical therapy than to be dying and suffering at the hands of a monster he once thought of as his brother.

This is why Kevin prefers to be drunk. Or on the court. There’s no time for complicated thoughts when he has a racquet in hand.

He stands in the doorway of the locker room, his trainers clutched in his good hand, and watches Neil gasp through a panic attack. He’s curled up next to the bench, hands pulling at sweaty hair. His skin is rippling, unable to settle on a specific form, grappling with his panicked mind for control and loss of it. It’s startling, almost, to see this trembling bird of a boy instead of the snarling beast that dragged them both out of a poisoned cage, bleeding and broken but not defeated. He sounds like he’s dying. Kevin is utterly helpless.

He’s the first to admit he’s a coward—he won’t say it out loud but he’s spent his entire life conditioned to be second best, he’s made a performance out of pretending to be less. His Blessing only made it easier for him to fade into the background when he needs to. (Kevin Day, son of Exy, born into the spotlight yet Blessed with the ability to misdirect attention. Irony has always tasted bitter to him.) He’s survived this long because of luck and circumstance. He’s allowed to live on because of reckless idiots with duct-tape hearts that refused to let him hide. But Kevin has only ever felt confident on the court—before, anyway, but Abby’s promised him recovery—and he has no idea what to do here.

“Neil,” he says. No response. “Neil, come on.”

The boy on the ground only shakes harder. Kevin’s hand tightens on his shoes.

“Nathaniel,” he tries, and this time he receives a violent flinch. Neil’s shoulder slams into the bench hard enough to echo, and Kevin doesn’t quite manage to hold back a wince. He changes tactics.

“Neil,” he says, and switches to French. “Wake up. We’re not—We’re in Palmetto. You’re safe.”

A jagged breath goes in. It stutters harshly on the way out. Neil chokes out a laugh that only makes it halfway. “I’m never safe. There’s no—no such thing as s-safe, for people—for people like me.”

Kevin opens his mouth, and then closes it. Because what is there to say, really? They might have been trapped in the same darkness, but they are of different breeds. Kevin can’t help him.

He’s about to leave, to find someone else better suited to deal with this, when two things happen at once.

The door behind him slams open, revealing an unimpressed Andrew, just as Neil’s panic finally overtakes him and he shifts into a bird.

Not just any bird. A raven.

“Neil,” Kevin hisses. He can feel his own panic starting to seep through.

“My, my,” Andrew drawls, taking in the scene with that frustratingly blank expression of his. “Feeling a little homesick, are we, birdie?”

Kevin freezes, eyes darting between Andrew and bird-Neil. He wills himself to disappear before getting caught in the crossfire.

Andrew flicks him a bored look. His gaze slides off quickly enough, and Kevin breathes out a sigh of relief. 

The raven flutters frantically. He hops backwards, almost trips in the heap of abandoned clothing. Dark wings flap restlessly and propels him towards the ceiling. But there’s nowhere for him to go. Andrew had pulled the door shut behind him and the windows in the shower room are closed. Neil lands on top of the lockers by the far wall, picking nervously at his feathers with his beak.

“Are you trying to run?” Andrew asks flatly. Even without moving, even though he has to tilt his head to be able to stare up at Neil, he gives off the impression of looming over him. “Didn’t we have this conversation already, runaway?”

Neil doesn’t answer. Kevin edges backwards.

“We have a deal,” Andrew says. “You can shift into whatever form you like, but I told you to stay.”

The silence in the locker room chafes against Kevin’s skin. He eyes Neil, perched up high and staring down at Andrew with beady black eyes. Andrew stares back. A heartbeat passes; an eternity passes. Then, carefully, Neil hops down from the locker and flies across the room. Andrew holds out an arm. The raven latches on gracefully.

“Get his stuff, Day,” Andrew tosses over his shoulder. The door swings shut behind them, leaving Kevin holding his breath in an empty locker room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok fine this is yet another shifter!neil fic, thank u fandom for sharing the same one brain cell
> 
> neil: shifter (animals mostly)  
> kevin: [kuroko voice] misdirection! (he can shift or pull people's attention from/onto him)  
> andrew: a fucking cryptid (redacted)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which andrew protects his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like. three times as long as the other ones lmao i have zero (0) idea what i am doing
> 
> this is basically the "andrew loses his shit and almost kills people to defend his cousin" milestone of his fucked up life; in this AU, this occurs during college and post-neil's introduction to their group  
> (the tilda chapter and the drake chapter occurred during high school - freshman year and senior year respectively. the drugs? will be explained... eventually)
> 
> violence happens in this chapter but i am not an action writer so it's not graphic at all

 

The hazy lights and constant hype of Eden’s Twilight never fails to wake Andrew up. The shuffling and bustling of the drunken crowd sets his nerves on fire, already lighting a buzz underneath his skin before he touches a drop of alcohol. The dust he’d inhaled beforehand helps, but Andrew, for all his practiced dodging and weaving between writhing bodies throughout the club, can somewhat appreciate the feeling if only because it feels a bit closer to feeling alive than floating through emptiness.

Neil still casts him a strange look when they reach the bar. Probably wondering how Andrew could stand being in a place like this with such a Blessing. ( _ A curse _ , Andrew snarls in his mind, is the more appropriate term.)

“Hey, Andrew,” Roland says. His smile is as brilliant as ever. Andrew notes a new piercing on his ear with detached interest. “And Neil, too.”

“Hi,” Neil says, but he’s watching the bottle of whiskey sliding across the counter towards Roland’s open palm. Under the coloured lights, Neil's hair is less auburn and more brown, but his eyes are no less electrifying.

Catching himself before his glance turns into staring, Andrew turns back in time to catch Roland’s smirk. He gives him his most unimpressed look. Roland, who’s built up immunity to most of Andrew’s resting bitch faces now, just goes back to filling up their tray. He draws glasses and tequila bottles towards him with a twitch of his fingers.

Andrew tilts his head at Neil to pick up the tray before he turns and makes his way back to their table. It’s a complicated dance he’s managed to perfect over the years: avoid contact, push when necessary, project a little bit of that constant anger, just enough that people naturally move out of the way. It’s much easier now, without the suppressants.

The others immediately reach for a shot glass as soon as the tray makes contact with the table. Neil makes a face and Andrew resolutely does not think about the way his nose scrunches. He picks up his own glass and watches as Nicky charmspeaks some poor sucker into giving up a stool for their table.

“You shouldn’t use your Blessing so casually,” Kevin says.

“What? It’s not like it’s hurting anybody,” Nicky says back. He snags the glass of vodka in front of Kevin.

“It’s not right,” Kevin frowns. He’s going to have wrinkles. He probably already does. Andrew focuses on his drink so he doesn’t roll his eyes at whatever comes out of Kevin’s mouth next. “It’s cheating.”

“Dude, relax. You’re only allowed to preach on an exy court.”

Kevin opens his mouth again but this time, Aaron cuts him off. “Don’t act like you don’t use yours to run away from your problems all the time.”

“I do not—”

“Less arguing, more drinking!”

It doesn’t take long for the alcohol to work its way into their systems, and soon Nicky was dragging Aaron off onto the dancefloor. Kevin is polishing off the last of the glasses, though he’s swaying more and more by the second. Neil is fiddling with the straw in his soda.

When Neil inevitably breaks the silence, he does so in German. “Can we play a round?” he asks, eyes on the crowd below.

Andrew glances at him out the corner of his eye. “Yes.”

“Did you and Roland used to date?”

That isn’t the question he was expecting. He swallows some whiskey and then, slowly, says, “No. We didn’t date.”

“Okay. But you guys were something? Fooled around?”

“Fooled around,” Andrew repeats flatly.

Neil shrugs. “You guys are clearly a lot more familiar with each other than just regular patron and bartender. It’s a different sort of tension than what you have with anyone else we’ve met.”

“Nicky, Aaron, and I used to work here. In the back mostly since we were underage. Roland doesn’t ask questions and keeps his hands to himself. We had a casual arrangement.”

“Had?”

Andrew cuts him a glance. “Why do you care?”

“Is that your question?”

“Are you avoiding answering the question by asking me that question?”

Neil doesn’t laugh, but there’s that glint in his eye. Andrew hates him. “I guess I’m just curious. You point knives at everyone to keep them away but Roland’s first reaction is to smile at you. It’s interesting.”

_ You’re interesting. _ Andrew grits his teeth. 

Before he can say anything else, Aaron stumbles into their table and nearly knocks the entire tray over. His movements are unsteady but his eyes are wide and lucid when he makes eye contact with Andrew.

“It’s Nicky,” he says, a rare note of urgency in his voice, “he’s—there’s, shit, four of them—”

Andrew is on his feet and shoving past him already. Behind him, Neil is dragging Kevin along, but Andrew keeps his eyes on Aaron’s back. The pleasant buzz has rapidly drained away to be replaced with painful adrenaline. The club suddenly feels too much, pressing in around him.

Aaron leads them out the back door. He’s muttering, sobering up by the second, “One of them has some sort of strength enhancement, one can lower body temperature—” Andrew barely listens, hearing Nicky’s voice floating towards them down the alley, pitched higher than it usually is. Andrew can pick out the magic slurring between the words, but Nicky’s too drunk to make it work. 

The four assholes trying to beat his head in probably aren’t much help.

Andrew is over there without even registering the distance. The roaring in his head drowns out the shouting and the sound of fists against flesh. Nicky is dropped onto the ground, gasping and crying. He knees one of them in the stomach and goes to punch another one in the nose again. The surge of emotions is ugly: pain, confusion, glee, anger. He doesn’t have time to figure out where his and theirs end. He only has one thought, and that is to  _ protect _ . He has a knife in hand. He tastes blood in his mouth. He doesn’t stop until they’re crumpled by his feet.

A chill leaks into his body, pooling through his bloodstream like a broken dam. Andrew looks up and locks eyes with the last one. It’s an unnatural cold that can only come from a Blessing; it is suddenly difficult to lift his limbs. Someone calls out his name—Kevin, maybe, and he’s aware of Aaron peeling Nicky from the dirty ground. Andrew steels himself for the incoming hit. Instead of dodging, he latches onto the bare skin, and  **shoves** .

He can see the exact moment of impact. The guy falters, hit by a wave of misery and despair, staggers backwards. Andrew doesn't let go. He presses and presses, feeding the negative emotions into him. Someone is screaming. It's not him because Andrew doesn't scream out loud—he’s been screaming all this time and no one has ever heard a damn thing. Andrew pushes at the connection, unleashing as much pain as he dared. It’s awful, and he can hear Bee’s warnings about knowing his limits but Andrew is still seeing red. A dark, staining red. He hates hurting but it’s all he knows.

“Andrew.”

Neil stands behind him, a good foot away to avoid startling him. Of course he would. He doesn’t spare a glance at the unconscious bodies around them. His blue eyes are trained on Andrew. Only on Andrew.

The open channel shuts off like a flicked switch. The guy’s eyes roll backwards as he passes out. Andrew drops the arm and watches him slump against the wall. Silence rings through his ears, deafening, dizzying. He is hollow.

“I didn’t kill him,” Andrew says.

“I know,” Neil says back. He sounds—not calm, not exactly, but nothing that grates on Andrew’s already shot nerves. That in itself is infuriating, but Andrew can’t focus enough to figure it out.

“Nicky,” he manages.

“I’ve got him,” Aaron says. He has their cousin propped up over his shoulders, tilting slightly with the weight. He’s attempting to nudge Kevin into helping hold Nicky up. “He’s got bruises and some shallow cuts and probably one hell of a headache tomorrow morning, but he’ll be okay.”

Neil keeps his eyes on Andrew. “We should go.”

Andrew holds his gaze for another heartbeat. He turns away and ignores the tremors running through his arms. The artificial cold has left his body, but the emptiness will linger. He’s used to that, though.

No one speaks as they pile back into the car. Andrew wipes away the blood on his hands, and turns up the radio.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just using this fic to pick on kevin day, oops
> 
> neil: shifter  
> kevin: misdirection  
> nicky: charmspeak (a mix of allure, seduction, and teensy bit of brainwashing, yikes)  
> aaron: blessing-detector (he can also. block blessings with direct physical contact,,)  
> andrew: empath (yes you heard right. the universe's cruelest joke)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which neil almost loses himself, but andrew brings him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for neil and his vague panic attacks
> 
> i wrote this in social inequalities class which i'm seriously regretting taking bc it's just depression squared and all i know is that weber wants to fight marx and bourdieu wants to fight both of them and we're all pretty much screwed and gonna die tired and broke  
> why not spend my time writing gay fic, amirite ladies

 

Shifting comes easy to Neil, like pulling on a second skin, a third skin, countless and rippling across the form of the boy he’s relearning how to settle into. It’s a part of him, like his heart and liver and calluses and scars, but it’s also a force of habit, ingrained in him by paranoia and harsh reprimands and a life on the run. Neil shifts in order to breathe after being submerged in pretending to be less.

But sometimes, shifting feels wrong. Sometimes, his skin feels too tight, too spacious, too much all at once—he flounders through the myriad of shapes he’s learned to call his own: cat, fox, bird—but everything feels just on the wrong side of right. Nothing feels like himself. Who is he, anyway? Who is Neil?

Neil isn’t real. Neil is just a name he picked on a whim. A weak attempt at connecting with the frightened adolescent he used to be, at separating from the paranoid teenager he was sick of being. Neil isn’t real.

But, god. He wants to be.

He shudders through another half-shift. IT doesn’t hurt, not yet, but he doesn’t think he’s breathing. Can’t remember the last breath he took. His hands are shaking—no, his wings are crooked, no, his claws—Neil slams into a wall. Or maybe it’s the floor. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that it’s not safe, he’s trapped, he’s has to go—

“Neil.”

There’s a window. There, five steps to his right. It has a screen on the other side but he can bat it out of the way. There’s a doorway, but someone is there—

“Neil, stop.”

He can’t stop. Stopping means surrendering. He’s had enough of cowering in cages. He has to go.

“Neil.”

There’s a hand on the back of his neck. He freezes. The grip is tight, but not bruising. Just enough pressure to cut through his panicked thoughts.

“I can’t—” he gasps, blind. He shivers violently, feeling fangs in his mouth for one brief moment. He tastes blood.

The hand on the back of his neck presses down. “Breathe, Neil. You’re going to pass out.”

Neil allows his head to be pushed between his knees. His arms twitch with the need to shift, but they’re uncoordinated. Wrong. His breathing is uneven, harsh, too fast. Then, above his panic, coming down around him like a blanket, a steady hum of calm. It sinks through the red haze of his mind, firm and slow, holding him in place. Instead of the usual claustrophobia kicking in, Neil finds himself following the calm until his breathing slows down and he starts to feel solid again.

Somewhere, in the back of his frantic brain, he registers that the calm is not his. It’s not forced, not exactly, and it’s not false. Just... controlled. Neil isn’t a stranger to control, but he’s never been in contact with anything so steady. It’s reassuring in the most wordless way.

When he finally comes back into his body, he straightens enough to meet Andrew’s eyes. The familiar hazel stares back at him readily.

“Thanks,” Neil says quietly.

“What happened,” Andrew says. His tone is as disinterested as ever, but this close, his unaffected apathy is easy to solve. The intensity of his gaze is easier to drown in.

Neil shrugs. “I panicked.”

“No shit.” Andrew’s hand is still on his neck. Neither of them mention it. “You wanted to run.”

A huff escapes Neil’s lips; not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “I’m a runner, remember? It’s what I do when I panic.”

“Not anymore, remember?” Andrew shoots back, almost mockingly. He shakes Neil a little. “You made a deal. You’re not a rabbit anymore. You’re a fox.”

“I’m a fox,” Neil repeats.

Andrew studies him for a long moment. His eyes roam across Neil’s face, searching for something. Neil stays still, concentrating on the heat of Andrew’s palm at his nape. Whatever Andrew was looking for, he must have found it, because he nods once and then sits back. He removes his hand. The calm flowing through Neil tapers off like an old tap being shut off.

“Sorry,” Neil murmurs. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t apologize for things you have no control over.”

“But—my, I mean. The panic attack, and your—”

“Careful,” Andrew drawls, “don’t start panicking again.”

“I’m not!” Neil frowns. “I just meant. The contact. Isn’t it bad for you?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Next you’re going to tell me to eat my vegetables.” He stands up and walks over to shove the window open. Neil watches him push Kevin’s neatly stacked notebooks onto the floor so he can sit on top of the desk. He pulls out a cigarette and flicks his wrist at Neil until Neil wanders over to take the second cigarette from him.

“Does shifting hurt?” Andrew asks after they’ve both taken a drag.

“No. It... It’s the opposite, actually. If I don’t shift for a long time, I get all achey and sore.”

Andrew hums. He flicks some ash out the window. “Same concept. I create channels to direct emotions, but it goes both ways. If I keep it inside too long, I’ll explode. Probably violently.”

“Oh.”

“I’m self-destructive, Neil, not stupid. I may hate the curse they call a Blessing, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use it. I’ve spent my entire fucked up life learning the push and pulls, just like little you did, learning how to hide in someone else’s skin. They thought,” and here Andrew sneers, nails scratching against the engraved metal of his lighter, “that they could pump me full of drugs to keep me safe from myself. They were wrong. Don’t make their mistake, Neil.”

Neil nods. He watches the cigarette in his hand burn. “I believe you. It’s  _ yours, _ after all. And I think you’re very in control.”

“Which you, evidently, are not.”

Neil huffs, but his lips are twitching. “I deserved that.”

Andrew breathes out, smoke curling in front of his face. “I know how to protect myself, Neil. Your messy feelings aren’t that hard to handle.”

“Maybe you should give me tips, then. Considering I seem to suck at handling them myself.”

“Not for free, I won’t.”

This time, Neil lets his lips curl up into a real smile. They stay like that, Andrew perched on the desk and Neil leaning his hip against it, close enough to touch and yet not touching at all, quietly sharing space, until Kevin comes back to yell at them for smoking inside again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't smoke inside dorms !!
> 
> neil: shifter  
> andrew: empath  
> both of them: little shits


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which andrew can't sleep and ends up with neil for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> about dorm arrangements:  
> the monsters' room (named by allison) - andrew and aaron, kevin and neil  
> the hot mess room (named by nicky, unfortunately) - matt, seth, nicky  
> the girls' room (all other names vetoed by dan) - dan, allison, renee

 

It’s twelve minutes to three when the sound of tiny feet padding across carpet flooring drags Andrew out of the murky reverie he’s sunk into. A furry head peeks around the corner of the kitchen island. Bright blue eyes blink at him. Andrew blinks back. Then the rest of the fox appears as he slinks over to where Andrew is curled up in a beanbag.

“What,” Andrew whispers, “can’t sleep without your nightly exy dose?”

Neil huffs at him slightly. His tail swishes behind him as he stares at Andrew. The weather has been terrible all week and Andrew’s mood swings have fluctuated with it. He’d refused to drive the junkies to the court that night and Kevin, probably because midterms were looming over them all, for once didn’t waste energy arguing. 

Blue eyes flick towards the half-empty mug Andrew is holding. He’s curious, but he won’t ask. Not that he really can, in that form. Andrew sighs and answers the unspoken question anyway.

“Hot chocolate. Secret ingredient is booze.”

Neil doesn’t roll his eyes, but turns his nose away in the same dismissive manner. Andrew ignores him and takes a large gulp. It’s barely lukewarm by now. The alcohol has little effect on him, unfortunately. He’s no closer to sleep than he was hours ago. It’s one of those nights. He’s used to it by now, but it doesn’t mean it’s any less of a pain in the ass.

The tv is muted, playing some documentary about penguins. Andrew’s only half paying attention because his brain is doing that stupid thing where every thought is a battle to hold onto. The drugs used to make it worse. The only good thing about being on them was that they also removed any incentive for Andrew to care. Life was a lot duller but a lot smoother when he didn’t have to pretend like he was able to give a shit.

Neil cocks his head at the tv. His eyes are following the black-and-white blobs across the screen, sliding and waddling across wide expanses of ice. Andrew thinks they look stupid. Animals that depend on each other for survival is the most stupid of all. Putting your survival in the hands of someone else is practically suicide by proxy.

He lifts his mug and swallows the remainder of the drink. When he lowers his hands, the fox is gone. Instead, in the spot Neil was, stands a penguin. An emperor penguin, just tall enough to meet Andrew’s elbow where he’s slumped over the beanbag. Neil snaps his beak a couple times, and then turns to look at Andrew.

“Wow,” drawls Andrew, “looks like you  _ can  _ teach a fox new tricks. Who knew?”

Neil lets out a soft croak. He waddles closer and leans against the beanbag by Andrew’s knee. For a long moment, all they do is stare at each other. It’s ridiculous how expressive Neil can be when he doesn’t have a mouth to form human language. It’s annoying how close Andrew lets him when he’s shifted like this, without hands and fingers and distracting cheekbones but those stupid blue eyes just the same.

Andrew places his empty mug on the ground and leans back. “You better not shift back until you’re back in your bed,” Andrew warns. 

He helps the penguin up onto the beanbag between his legs. A sharp beak and thin wings poke him a little but they find a position to settle comfortably in. Neil is warm. He’s always ran at a higher temperature than everybody else—probably from all that running and shifting he does. The black and white pelt is a pulsing heat against Andrew’s bare legs. Neil is focused on the screen in front of them so Andrew allows himself to stare at the back of his tiny penguin head.

He doesn’t feel anything, even though they’re pressed up against each other, feathers on skin. He knows Neil has an iron grip on his mental blocks. There’s also just... a difference, when he’s shifted. As if a hazy film is pulled over the connection, a static buzz when Andrew subconsciously reaches for the undercurrent of emotions. He can still feel the general gist, or maybe Neil is just stupidly easy to read. He’s calm right now, almost content. A steady pressure leaning against Andrew’s own emotions. It’s strange, but—and Andrew hasn’t decided if he’s surprised or angry at this revelation—it’s not unpleasant. 

Out of curiosity, Andrew runs a hand down the penguin’s back. He keeps his touch featherlight, barely skimming along the sleek black feathers. Neil shivers. He doesn’t turn his head and holds still. Andrew takes that as a cue and does it again. This time, the shiver is accompanied by a tiny honk.

Andrew freezes. Neil does, too. Then, slowly, Neil relaxes. His little feet digs into the beanbag as he inches closer to Andrew. He looks ridiculous, wobbling like that.

Andrew pokes him. “Stop wiggling or I’m pushing you off.”

Obediently, Neil stops, but not before he turns to nip at Andrew’s finger. Cheeky little shit. They finish the rest of the documentary like that, sitting close together, pretending not to find comfort in that simple touch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you know that penguins had feathers?? really short feathers? idk why i was so Shocked by this fact, like. i knew they were birds.
> 
> anyway i'm half-regretting this entire shifting business bc i'm gonna have to do research on a bunch of animals for their behaviours and simple words to describe their body parts and ugh. neil. why are you so difficult
> 
> neil: a curious shapeshifter  
> andrew: a tired empath


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which matt is still best boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short introspection piece from matt's pov  
> [matt boyd best boy(d)](https://twitter.com/puddingcatbae/status/1090896997983256576)

 

Matt considers himself a fairly easygoing guy. He tries not to hold grudges, as a rule, and it takes a bit of effort to make him truly angry. He doesn’t like being angry, because it takes up a lot of energy and he’s always afraid of losing control of his flames. The rush of rage feels a little too much like the rush of being high, sometimes. He doesn’t want to be that anymore.

Sometimes, though, when he catches Neil flinching at Coach raising his voice, when he sees Kevin’s stunned expression at being included in their plans to go out and have fun just for the sake of having fun, Matt can feel the tendrils of anger licking at his skin. The Foxes are all a little bit bent at the core and rough at the edges, but there’s a special brand of cruelty that festers behind the gated walls of Evermore. Matt won’t ask for secrets, but the flight risk he reads in Neil’s eyes when he’s offered the tiniest shred of kindness without any expectations of repayment is more than a little heartbreaking.

He tries his best to offer friendship and companionship. Matt isn’t very good at a lot of things; he’s confident enough on the court, his height is useful for reaching things on the top shelf, he knows how to cheer Dan up when she’s stressed, he’s patient enough to be a good listener. But sometimes, it’s hard to shake the nightmares of smoke and flame, the memories of heat spreading from his fingertips and crawling through his skin, the crackling of the fire playing backdrop along with the hysterical laughter and the haze of chemicals dancing through his veins. He knows better than anyone what it feels like to destroy things with just a touch of his hand, and he wants to chase that fear from their eyes.

Neil is stubborn, like a cornered fox determined to chew off his own foot rather than take the offered hand for help. Matt supposes there’s something admirable about that pride and independence, but mostly he’s just concerned. The two former Ravens stick together not out of fondness but rather a desperate necessity, a conditioned habit. Matt is a people-person and feels more at home surrounded by people he cares about than by himself, but even he can see that the way Neil and Kevin bind themselves together is unhealthy. 

No matter what they say, nobody’s lives can revolve around just exy like that. Matt bets that the rest of the Foxes agree with him—it’s just too sad.

So he invites Neil out for brunch dates. He asks him mild questions to include him in conversation, hosts video game nights just because. He even sits through Kevin’s lectures about proper nutritional intake just so he can roll his eyes along with Neil. He offers both of them rides to the court or out to town, even if Andrew’s got it covered most of the time. He tries, and he knows from the hesitant way Neil starts to greet him when they cross paths on campus, from the awkward way Kevin attempts to praise him after practice, he’s doing something right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> matt: a firebender with the soul of an airbender (he is warm but can also set fire to things if he high fives them hard enough)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which neil causes a wild cat chase, and andrew, of course, finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> instead of taking notes in class, i've been writing fic to keep myself awake, hence the frequent updates,, it's just a little difficult deciphering my own handwriting sometimes

 

Neil goes missing just before his mandatory appointment with Bee. How fucking convenient.

Dan forces the entire team to participate in a impromptu dorm-wide manhunt. Neil-hunt. Because Andrew will swear on his dear late mother’s weed-filled grave that Neil has abandoned any semblance of a boy-shape by now. If he still had his smarts about him, anyway. 

He’s not in the dorm because he’s not a total idiot. The upperclassmen are combing through their own rooms while Kevin is still flipping their living room upside down. He seems to think the louder he yells the faster Neil will turn up. Funny, how he’s known the runaway longer than any of them and yet still have no clue about Neil and his little quirks at all. At least Nicky has the sense to give up on calling Neil’s phone, which is probably abandoned in some dark corner at low battery. Aaron offered a half-hearted suggestion of checking the court and then planted himself on the couch with his phone, done with the whole dramatic affair.

Andrew twirls his keys around his finger. He takes a step towards the elevator, then changes his mind. On a whim, he turns and jerks open the door to the stairwell. He keeps his steps quiet.

He’s three floors down and starting to curse his instincts when he nearly trips over the cat curled up against the wall halfway down the flight of stairs. The dark red fur is unmistakable, but the way he curls up defensively as soon as he realizes he’s not alone is even more so.

Andrew bites back a sigh. He lowers himself onto the step below the cat. “Done with your tantrum yet?”

One blue eye peeks out at him. Neil is bristling slightly, but he doesn’t move away. Andrew gives him another few seconds to mope, before shifting so he is sitting with his back against the railing and his legs stretched out towards the wall. He moves slow enough that Neil can see and decide what to do. He ends up with a lap full of cat. Neil attempts to suffocate himself against Andrew’s thighs. Andrew pulls him back by the scruff of his neck. It’s easier, when Neil’s shifted, for Andrew to initiate contact. It almost bothers him, but it’s not like Neil ever mentions it, so Andrew doesn’t, either.

He shakes the cat. “Stop it,” he says.

Neil blinks at him. Andrew stares back, unimpressed.

“I’m not here to coddle you,” Andrew says slowly. “You’re the one who made a promise. If you’re going to break it, do it properly. Don’t leave collateral damage.”

His ears are drooping back from where it was pressed against his head. Even coming out of irrational panic and in this stupid form, Neil keeps his paws to himself. He looks small and limp and pathetic. Andrew drops him, squashing down a sudden flare of annoyance. Neil, the dumb asshole, crawls up his legs and curls up by his hip, face smushed against Andrew’s stomach.

“You,” Andrew tells him, “are not cute.”

The stairwell is quiet. Distant sounds of doors slamming and people talking filter through from the other floors, but neither pay much attention. At some point, Andrew’s hand began to stroke the cat’s fur, and Neil’s paws began to knead softly at Andrew’s thigh. Andrew lets them sit there for a while longer before nudging at Neil’s head. He receives a lazy flick of the tail as a response.

“Come on,” Andrew says. “I’m taking you to Bee’s.”

Neil gives him a baleful look. Andrew ignores it. 

He reaches out and, when Neil doesn’t scramble away, lifts the cat up in both arms. Neil doesn’t look like he’s planning on turning back until he absolutely has to so Andrew dumps him in the passenger seat and locks the door. He takes a few seconds to tap out a message to Kevin that Neil wasn’t dead in a ditch, before putting his phone on silent. He looks at Neil, who is already looking back.

“You’re buying me ice cream later,” Andrew decides. “To make up for this wild cat chase.”

Neil narrows his eyes. Then he turns, pointedly giving Andrew his back. 

“Brat,” Andrew mutters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my excuse is that neil can't really speak when he's shifted, so andrew talks a lot more when it's just the two of them
> 
> neil: naughty boy. brat cat. (shifter)  
> andrew: stinky bastard man (the most apathetic empath ever)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which neil muses about the foxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil, a total hypocrite: the foxes are a complete mess
> 
> you thought this was a magic au? no. found family feels only

 

The Foxes are strange. 

A fair statement, in Neil’s opinion, because he’s never seen a group of people more dysfunctional than the Foxes—and that’s saying something, considering his entire childhood. (Yet, despite how dysfunctional the Foxes are, they almost manage to be halfway functional on the court. Almost.)

The upperclassmen—the girls, anyway, form a sense of solidarity because of shared history and a sisterhood built on looking after each other on a team so prone to infighting. Matt is included, sometimes, because of his unwavering support for Dan. He’s probably the only one who’s willing to stand with Seth, mostly because of their years of sharing a dorm. But Seth tends to set himself apart, sparking and fizzing and chafing against everyone else like the electricity at his fingertips. On good days, the ones that most often align with days when the Reynolds-Gordon Thing is on, Seth is another boulder on the upperclassmen hill. They’re solid in the way that they’re willing to accept differences because they’re tired of the rest of the world not extending the same courtesy to them.

Then there is Andrew’s crew. Nicky is amicable because his Blessing demands that of him, but he’s also pushed onto the fringe because of his Blessing. He probably can worm his way into the upperclassmen group, but his loyalty to the rest of the “monsters”—the murder twins with the eerily blank expressions of indifference—is unshakeable. Aaron is detached because it’s easier than being angry, than facing his complicated relationship with his brother. Andrew is untouchable because he genuinely doesn’t care for people he doesn’t deem worthy of trust, and he makes it a habit not to trust anyone. He keeps an iron grip on his brother and his cousin even though he barely manages to hold a conversation with them on a good day.

Neil crashed through the window with a panic-drenched Kevin in tow and he doesn’t know how they didn’t smash the already fragile Foxes into irreparable splintered pieces. (Cruelly, he had the thought that he can’t break something that is already at rock bottom.)

But he watches Dan rally their teammates on the court. He sees Allison check up on Seth during cloud weeks. He listens to Matt’s anecdotes and Nicky’s cheerful chatter that breaks the tension in the locker room. He witnesses the way Andrew bares his teeth to protect his own. He meets the vigilant gaze of Renee behind her sweet smile. 

Neil has never known a group of people more volatile or more determined to get on each other’s nerves. He has never known a group of people more determined to survive than he is.

He’s still trying to figure out where he’s supposed to fit into this mess of a team, to keep Kevin alive. If they’re all just as fucked up as he is, maybe he could stay. For a little while at least.

If he’s being honest, Palmetto is the safest he’s felt in a long, long time. And maybe the Foxes are a catastrophic disaster, and maybe he’s running on borrowed time—the thing is, Neil is tired. He is tired of looking over his shoulder all the time, pushing himself harder even though his ribs are broken in three places, bleeding himself dry trying to survive even though he’s realized by now that what he was doing was not  _ living. _ He is tired of being locked in a cage and being made to fly at a sadistic bastard’s whim. He is tired of keeping his claws sheathed, he is tired of pretending he does not possess canines sharp enough to snap a raven’s neck.

He likes the way Foxes stand their ground to fight against a world they’re so used to being hurt by. He likes the way they don’t flinch at Kevin’s harsh words, at Neil’s biting defensive remarks, at the raw wounds in their eyes. He likes learning how to be a kid worrying about midterms and partying on weekends. He likes trading truths with Andrew, the thrill of being known and the wonder of knowing someone—not out of necessity, like him with Kevin and Jean, but out of curiosity. Of want.

He likes being a Fox.

The Foxes are strange. Neil figures he’s allowed to say so, because he is one, too.

(And if he’s being honest, he’d like to stay a Fox for as long as he can.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact #1: i forgot about renee when i wrote this between my class notes and had to go back to edit her in. pls forgive me renee ily  
> fun fact #2: spellcheck kept wanting me to correct "kevin" to "kenny." everyone please welcome the palmetto state foxes' striker extraordinaire: kenny fucking day


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which andrew and neil play a round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever remember that this is a magic au? tune in next sporadic update to find out

 

They’re waiting for Kevin. It’s not anything new for Neil, having spent the last couple years of his life waiting for Kevin to get his head out of his ass before realizing it’s not going to happen. Not without a good push, anyway.

Thankfully, Neil is very good at pushing people’s buttons.

Andrew is fiddling with his lighter. If he really wanted to smoke, though, he would leave Neil alone in the lounge without a backwards glance. He must have something to say.

Neil doesn’t have to wait long. Andrew doesn’t look at him, but it’s clear in the tilt of his head that his entire focus is on Neil.

“I want to take a turn,” he says.

“Okay,” Neil says when Andrew pauses. He should feel scared, he thinks, that he’s about to be made to give up more of his secrets. That he’s going to be known, more than he’s ever been. But his heart beats at a regular rhythm, his breathing steady. Somehow, Neil trusts that Andrew won’t ask for more than Neil can give.

He won’t ask for more than what he himself is willing to give.

“How many languages do you speak?”

Neil blinks. He tilts his head, counts. “Five or six, I think. Four for sure—English, French, German, Japanese. I’m passable in Italian and Spanish. A few phrases here and there.”

“Ravens have that much free time on their hands, huh.”

Neil bristles at that, but Andrew is looking at him now. His expression remains blank, even as his eyes pierce right through Neil. The annoyance fades as quickly as it came. “Riko didn’t like it when people spoke in a language he doesn’t understand. He’s tried to beat the French out of Jean so many times. But we kept it alive in secret.”

“I’m assuming Japanese was a necessity because of the little tyrant?”

“Yeah. It’s better to know his threats before they happen. Pretty amazing what that little bit of mental preparation can last you through.”

“Hm.” Andrew clicks the lighter rapidly. “Why German?”

“That was my mother.”

“Your mother is dead.”

Neil closes his eyes briefly. “She is. But before—before the Nest, we—she taught me, or made me learn, I guess. I didn’t want to forget.” He looks at Andrew. Finds him staring right back. “Guess I’m lucky I have you to practice with.”

For a moment, Andrew’s eyes seem to burn. Then he looks away, scoffing, “Nicky would be ecstatic to give you German lessons.”

“Probably,” Neil agrees. He pauses. The shower’s shut off for a while now, so Kevin is either having another meltdown in there or pampering himself. Neil considers the questions he wants to ask. He’s surprised at how many things about Andrew he wants to know.

“What happens when you touch Aaron?” he asks.

Andrew’s entire body goes still. “You’re asking if his Blessing works on me.”

“Does it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Neil thinks maybe he won’t answer after all and that he’ll have to choose another question when Andrew flicks his lighter, three times in a row. 

“Yes and now,” Andrew says slowly. “The channel remains open but it’s one way. I can read his emotions. I can’t influence him. He can only block one part of my Blessing. We do not cancel each other out. It’s more like we’re at a stalemate.”

“Immovable object meets unstoppable force.”

Andrew flicks his lighter one last time before putting it away in his pocket. “It is unpleasant. We do not make a habit of coming in contact.”

“That’s not the only reason, though.”

Andrew doesn’t reply because it isn’t a question. He stands, keys swinging from his fingers. The locker room door opens to reveal Kevin. His eyes move between Andrew and Neil. There’s curiosity in his eyes. Neil realizes he must have been waiting for them to finish their conversation.

“It’s past bedtime for good little exy nerds,” Andrew drawls. He heads for the exit without a single glance back, trusting they would follow.

Neil ignores Kevin’s gaze and grabs his bag. He falls in step behind Andrew. They don’t talk again for the rest of the night, but Neil thinks maybe some of that distance between them has shifted. Just a little bit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil: shifter  
> andrew: empath  
> aaron: blessing immunity/detection. hm i need to come up with a snazzier term

**Author's Note:**

> title from "rhythm of your heart" by marianas trench   
> _so meet me in the dark / kiss me in the shadows of every spark / i know we shouldn't start_
> 
> catch me crying about these kids @puddingcatbae on tumblr/twitter


End file.
